Thanks for the reviews last chapter.

Chapter Nine

"What color will these be?"

"Black."

"White."

Izar's jaw tensed and he glanced at Riddle through the reflection of the mirror. Beside him, the tailor paused in his measurements, looking uncertainly between Izar and Undersecretary Riddle. The two wizards had just recently left Voldemort's private home and traveled back to Britain before arriving at this discreet tailoring shop.

Before they had left, Izar received a stern lesson from the Dark Lord. Their earlier night activities seemed to have been pushed behind them as Riddle had instructed Izar how to construct strong glamours. Luckily, Izar hadn't needed as many glamour spells as the Dark Lord had. His ears, teeth, scales, and fingernails were easily converted back to human. His eyes, on the other hand, were the most difficult to adapt to.

The Dark Lord claimed that optical glamours were the most complicated and most difficult to keep up. Because of that, Voldemort chose to keep his red-slit eyes when he was in his Dark Lord form. Optical glamours had the potential to cause blindness if worn too long. They also tended to flicker out if the wizard didn't have enough control of his magic or if his emotions got the best of him.

Riddle had suggested that Izar keep his eyes green, but convert the slit-pupils back to the originally sphere. Izar had turned a cold shoulder on that suggestion and had stubbornly charmed his eyes back to their original charcoal and green iris. Regulus would know the difference if he looked at his eyes. And Izar was in no mood to try to explain the cause of another change of eye color.

The thought of Regulus finding out about his creature status meant only pain and suffering on both their halves.

Izar could run faster, cease to breathe, jump higher, among many other unnatural talents. Riddle had continuously preached his opinion on the subject of Izar demonstrating these new abilities. The Dark Lord made certain Izar got it through his head that he was to remain and act as human as possible. If anyone where to spot a slip of his façade, if anyone were to catch sight of the creature lurking beneath, Izar was to kill them. It didn't matter who it was, the witness was to cease living.

Izar had argued that he could just Obliviate them, but the Dark Lord argued back that Memory Charms could be tampered with.

It made his determination to keep the glamour on his eyes stable. If Regulus were to ever become suspicious… Izar didn't know if he would choose to betray the Dark Lord's wishes and keep his father alive, or raise his wand against the man who had done nothing but protect Izar.

Regulus. Izar breathed deeply, wanting nothing but to see his father again. And Sirius. From what the Dark Lord had said, both men were doing fine. Lucius Malfoy saw to their silence and their patience of keeping still until they could see Izar again. It still didn't calm Izar's nerves on the topic of his father. Not when he vividly remembered what Regulus had suffered at the hands of Cygnus. And then there was Sirius. His uncle had been in a vulnerable state before Cygnus had struck. It was likely that his vulnerable state had hardened during Izar's four day absence—denying the Black heir a chance of bringing his uncle to the Dark side.

Izar wouldn't get a chance to see them until after the Ministry ball. He had to get new dress robes for the event and then he had to accompany the Dark Lord to his base. According to the Dark Lord's order, Izar was to remain living with him. They would begin his Occlumency training and the Dark Lord wanted to fine-tune his dueling skills and expand his Dark Arts knowledge. It reminded Izar of the conversation he had with the Dark Lord after his four month absence.

The man said things would change once Izar became his student.

And Izar was looking at those changes first-handedly.

A part of him, the stubborn and independent side of him, wanted to refuse the man's order of living with him at his base. But the more logical side argued that living at the Dark Lord's base in Britain would mean Izar could invent the fake Horcruxes he had planned on creating.

Horcruxes…

Lily.

Izar tipped back his neck, baring his teeth at the ceiling in aggravation. He would not think of her. He couldn't bring himself to think on the subject logically without feeling that hot emotion burn through his chest. The subject of her Horcrux was never uttered out loud. Not even to the Dark Lord.

"They will be white," Riddle ordered sharply behind Izar. The man was sitting regally on a leather and wood chair behind the tailoring podium. He hadn't glanced up from the Prophet he was reading, his silver glasses glittering from the sun peaking through the display window.

His arrogance and utter control made Izar seethe, yet, he controlled his irritation behind a mask of ice.

"Black," Izar argued back. He pinned the tailor with a hard stare. "I want them to be black."

The poor man. Riddle had taken Izar to a private tailor in Knockturn Alley as soon as they were in Britain once again. The owner of the shop charged a hefty price for his tailored robes, but in return, the customer received a fine quality robe and a guarantee of silence. The owner and his employees wouldn't gossip about their customers. It was part of the client-owner contract.

The man, Took Rosenthal, was a short and balding man. He had a wide forehead and from Izar's point-of-view, he could see the sweat begin to bead across his brow. Beady blue eyes shifted back and forth between Tom Riddle and Izar, appearing tentative. The man was incredibly weak-minded and greedy for gold. Izar was tempted to reach out and try to seduce, to play, but he knew Riddle would be a step ahead of him—most likely already holding control of Rosenthal's obedience.

Finally, Riddle looked up from his paper and pinned Rosenthal with a stare. "Who is paying you, Mr. Rosenthal?" It was a silky whisper; a tone that suggested to the weak-minded tailor that Riddle was very influential and could take his gold elsewhere.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Undersecretary, sir."

The watery blue eyes looked up at him and Izar gave the man a withering stare. The tailor offered a sickly smile, smothering out the material around Izar's thin frame. "May I suggest, perhaps, a color between black and white? A deep charcoal would do wonders for the young man."

Izar considered this, finding it far more preferable than white. Who would consider Tom Riddle's political heir to wear white? The man himself wore nothing but black and grey, and on occasion, a dark green. White. Not uncommon, but a color Izar despised only because the Dark Lord enjoyed the sight of it on him.

Riddle offered Rosenthal a heated stare, one that caused the tailor to issue a nervous laugh. "Though," Took began airily. "White would flatter him far more than any other color…"

Izar locked eyes with Riddle through the mirror, showing the man his unimpressed expression. "I have robes at Grimmauld Place," Izar began softly. "I don't see why I would need new robes if I already have a few decent pairs."

Riddle looked back down at his paper, an obvious sign that he didn't find the flow of this conversation significant. "You've grown since your last… spurt. And I would like my heir to look presentable in fitted cloaks and robes."

Izar turned back to the mirror, looking at his reflection. Really looking at himself. What Riddle said about his last growing spurt, Izar could see the hard evidence in front of him. His transformation into a creature seemed to have given him a few more inches, a height that brought him nearly to six feet. His tall frame was a far cry to the short frame he possessed last year. Height suited him far better than the shortness ever did. His new height made him appear as if he carried a power and a certain confidence that his old frame could never hope to possess.

His face had also matured. While his features still looked entirely too pure and innocent for his tastes, the sharp aristocratic lines and strong jaw line made him appear older than his sixteen years of age. But the most alluring feature was his eyes. Despite the glamour, Izar could see a sort of darkness lingering beneath. Shadows clung to his gaze, reminding him that he had been through more than any other wizard of his age.

The thought of being this age forever didn't seem so miserable. Yes, he would have enjoyed reaching the age of twenty, at least, but this was the body he was destined with for eternity. And he would carry it with confidence and grace.

Before Izar could try to persuade Riddle on black or green robes, the bell above the rickety door rang.

Izar turned as much as he could to see two blonds enter the shop. He refrained from looking upward in exasperation. From Riddle's reflection, it appeared as if the man were trying to do the same thing. It was too much of a coincidence to see both wizards here at this time of day. Lucius most likely wanted to snoop and sate his curiosity.

"Mister Malfoy," Riddle drawled in cool greeting. "Very nice to see you both again." Despite the man's obvious dislike of the company, his tone came off as a pleasant murmur.

Izar wasn't sure if he could manage the same tone. He locked eyes with Lucius before considering Draco. It seemed like ages since he had last seen the Malfoy heir. Draco looked partially the same as he had last year. The softness around his face came from his mother, as did his height. The boy seemed to have realized this himself, for he attempted to carry himself harder than he looked—a stance that screamed his father's influence even from across the room.

He was growing out his hair, Izar noticed. It brushed past his shoulders in loose locks, appearing like spun silk. Izar always admired blond hair. They seemed to be a species in their own right.

"A pleasure Undersecretary Riddle, Mr. Black," Lucius gave a smooth bow, his eyes tracing Izar's form as if to look for signs of the vulnerable boy he saw on the Ministry floor a few days earlier. "Draco is here to get new robes for the Ministry ball tonight."

Izar kept his gaze on Draco, desiring the boy's attention. Though, with Draco's dumbstruck expression leveled on Izar, he didn't have to worry about catching the boy's attention. A sharp rap from Lucius' cane knocked the blond out of his awed stare.

"You're attending?" Izar questioned, keeping his voice light and the smugness out. "Did Dumbledore give you special leave from Hogwarts?"

Draco blinked, clearing his throat and avoiding his father's disproved stare. "Yes," Draco spoke crisply. "He has given the students reprieve for the weekend. In his words, the political election is a good learning opportunity. Most of the Slytherins will be attending." Draco's eyes stared at an area above Izar's shoulder. "A few of your old Ravenclaw classmates, as well, I believe."

Izar was sure any student who had connections to the Ministry would try to attend. The Gryffindors would be just as thrilled to go. In all likelihood, the Gryffindors would look up to Rufus Scrimgeour as a commanding role model. Izar had never met the man himself, but the rumors stated Rufus was a force to be reckoned with. Voldemort even considered Rufus as a worthy opponent.

Silence seemed to stretch between the occupants after the tailor reassured Lucius that he would be tending to Draco after Izar.

Izar stood as proudly as possible as he was draped with a beautiful white robe. The tailor danced around him, pinning loose ends and adjusting the long cuffs and sloppy collar. The robes he was purchasing resembled more of a cloak than anything, though they had sleeves. Underneath, Izar would be wearing black tailored pants and a simple black dress shirt that would be mostly covered by the white cloak. He preferred cloaks more than robes, as did the Dark Lord.

"Hood?" Took asked breathlessly as tinkered around with Izar's collar.

Riddle never looked up from his Prophet. "High collar," the Undersecretary responded briskly, as if annoyed with the unnecessary interruption.

"How is Professor Snape fairing?" Izar broke the silence, his eyes pinning Draco's gaze in the mirror.

The blond tried to avert his eyes quickly, anxious that he had been caught staring. With a pure-blood air about him, Draco straightened up and replied stuffily. "He's doing as well as he can be… considering his circumstances," he murmured.

Izar allowed a fond smile to cross his lips as he thought of his old professor. There would always be a soft spot Izar would harbor for the snarky bastard. The man had a sharp wit and an even sharper mind. Snape didn't allow his emotions to get in the way of his actions, and was all for himself. Though, Izar had suspicion that Snape was just as enamored with Regulus as Regulus was with him. The two were just too stubborn to take the next step of forgiveness and redemption for their past actions.

"I see you have recovered, Mr. Black," Lucius' sly voice cut through the atmosphere with an audible hiss.

"I have," Izar responded curtly, not inclined to expand unless the man asked.

In the mirror, he watched as Draco shifted again. Izar wasn't empathetic, but he had reason to believe that Draco felt uncomfortable with Izar's new appearance and attitude. It must have been a surprise for Draco to see Izar so suddenly, so caught off guard with the changes. The blond remembered Izar as a short wizard who felt uncomfortable under attention and scrutiny. Because of that, Draco had underestimated Izar and thought he could be the wizard calling the shots in their 'relationship'.

Now that Izar's body and mannerisms had grown into his personality, they were both aware who, exactly, held the upper-hand.

Izar had warned Draco last year at Christmas that he wasn't safe for a relationship.

And now Draco was struggling with wounded pride while he schemed up ways to gain a sense of control again. Izar would need to speak with the blond shortly. He would not stand for this pathetic shifty behavior; it made them appear both guilty of something that never happened.

"May I inquire—"

"You may inquire what happened, Mr. Malfoy, however, this isn't the time nor the place to discuss what transpired," Izar cut off Lucius. "I would like to discuss this with Narcissa, Draco, and my family."

Most likely Bellatrix as well, but Izar wasn't sure if she would be having children anytime soon. He hoped to Merlin that she wouldn't consider having a child. But they would need to be told of the dangers of conceiving a child of the Black line, and encouraged to adopt, but Izar wouldn't exert himself past a heavy warning. It wasn't his business if they decided to ignore his advice. Pure-bloods were rather stiff about adopting children and not conceiving them.

Lucius' eyebrows rose. "It has to do with the Blacks, no? I heard rumors that Cygnus—"

"Not here, Lucius," Riddle spoke out sharply.

Lucius settled down, but his expression betrayed his excitement at the upcoming events.

Izar had to recognize Lucius' excitement, for he felt just as anxious. Only, Izar was looking forward to the war and the political battle with Rufus Scrimgeour.

{Death of Today}

It was ridiculous.

Izar thought Ministry balls were ridiculous at the age of fourteen and his opinion hadn't changed since then. They were overdone with glimmer and decorations, making it appear as if they were in the company of royals. They weren't. They were in the company of leech-like men and women who crowded near the most influential wizard as if they could absorb their power.

Tom Riddle was a charmer, a seducer, and constantly surrounded by men and women. And because Riddle was surrounded, meant Izar was surrounded.

The constant company was wearing thin on Izar. He had shaken hands with more than four dozen men and women already, every one of them attempting to squeeze the bones in his hands as if that established they were more important than him. Izar had offered a breathtaking smile to each of the old bastards and continued to stand proudly next to Riddle. He wondered if he looked as bored as he felt. Riddle didn't appear bored, in fact, he looked positively thrilled to be surrounded.

Izar knew he would get better with this… political dance. Tonight, he was just here to be introduced as Riddle's heir. His opinion wasn't warranted and no one asked for it. When he grew more of a reputation, he would be free to talk sweetly with the others. Until then, he could amuse himself with studying the politics, sizing up their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Most of their names were jumbled up in his head, no significance to him besides the ones that appeared half-way decent.

Whenever Izar had made a move to go to the refreshment table, Riddle's hand always weighed his shoulder down possessively, keeping him at his side. He felt like he was on a bloody leash.

Again, Izar was reminded that he wasn't a politician. He was similar to Bellatrix. They both enjoyed action more than they did sugar-coated words. Izar would give anything to be in a lab, experimenting and tinkering with magic and spells. But he knew he would have to adapt to this scene. Tom Riddle would soon become a force in the wizarding world and Izar was expected to be just as sharp.

Despite his reluctance with politics, he was eager to see how Riddle would play Rufus Scrimgeour. The public simply adored Rufus and put their trust in the man to keep them safe. When the Death Eaters would strike, they would strike hard, leaving Rufus struggling to keep up and keep the population safe. And behind the scenes, Riddle would be slowly manipulating the wizarding world to his liking.

It was truly ingenious. And Izar couldn't wait until the full raid the day Rufus Scrimgeour was announced as Minister. Just thinking about it made him anxious and itchy… to restless to stay here.

"…the pact with France cannot be allowed to pass. For decades, they have wanted to control Britain. If this pact passes, we may find ourselves under their thumbs."

Riddle nodded at the passionate man, his expression clearly intrigued and interested in the man's opinion, but both Voldemort and Izar knew otherwise. Izar wondered if this was why the Dark Lord Voldemort was so impatient and lacked mercy. He was merely taking out his frustrations in his Dark Lord persona that he couldn't while he was Tom Riddle.

"Excuse me," Izar spoke up before Riddle could respond.

Multiple pairs of eyes turned in his direction, both intrigued and frustrated at his interruption. Riddle calmly turned to him, his eyebrows raised in question. Izar met the stare smugly. "I'm going to get something to drink. Forgive my interruption."

Riddle smiled warmly, but Izar knew the man well enough to see the dangerous sparkle hiding beneath. "I'm sure one of the waiters would be happy to fetch you a drink, Izar."

And if to prove his point, one of the wizards in Riddle's posse flagged down a wandering waiter. The stiff-looking waiter appeared with a glass of champagne balanced on his tray. It wasn't long before the glass was passed hand to hand and finally made it in Izar's possession. The Black heir stared at the glass before offering a wide smile. "Thank you."

Inside, he was seething as Riddle turned back around and continued the conversation.

Over the tops of the politicians' heads, Izar surveyed the room. It was expansive with a dance floor in the middle and plenty of room around the edges to mingle and engage in conversation. The band was a distant beat, a smooth melody that seemed more for conversational background music than for the dancers currently swinging around on the floor.

In one of the corners, most of the younger occupants stood. The whole hall was ranked in hierocracy. The older and esteemed politics were in the back of the hall while the inexperienced and younger occupants stood near the double-doors. Izar knew most of the occupants who stood near the exit, Theodore Nott among them. Further along, near the buffet table, a large man stood with wild orange hair and broad shoulders.

Owen Welder.

Izar's lips curled into a simple smile as he recognized his Unspeakable boss. The last time he'd seen Owen was last summer before he went to Hogwarts for his last year. Izar needed to speak with the man personally. He had to make certain he still held a position in the Unspeakable department. It didn't matter if Voldemort didn't want Izar to continue on his occupation as an Unspeakable, because the Black heir would ignore such an order. Inventing, experimenting… it was what he enjoyed and that was something the Dark Lord would never be able to take away.

The Dark Lord and Izar had yet to talk about his Unspeakable position, but the younger knew the topic would be brought up eventually.

Izar rolled back on his heels, eyeing Owen before examining the group around Riddle. They were holding onto his every last word, drool would likely come from their lips if they weren't so proud.

Lifting the glass of champagne to his lips, Izar skillfully pivoted around Riddle and disappeared into a passing group of witches. They giggled at his sudden appearance, their lashes fluttering at him in hopes he would take notice of them. "Hello ladies," he purred playfully. He grinned when a few of them struggled to take position next to him. If he remembered correctly, he identified a few of them as old Hogwarts students.

"Izar, is it?" One of the brunettes asked. "You were in Ravenclaw, weren't you?"

Too many questions when he wasn't in the mood... "I am, I was," he answered curtly. A few of them laughed despite the fact he hadn't meant to be witty about it. He disguised his displeasure behind another charming smile. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

And just as stealthily as he escaped Riddle, he made an abrupt turn from the group of females and deposited his glass of champagne on one of the tables. His escape from Riddle wouldn't be looked highly upon, he knew. But he had his own agenda tonight, and that was to secure his position with the Unspeakables. Hearing more of the dry opinions from the politics in Riddle's circle would have driven Izar insane.

Smiling, he made his way across the hall and toward Owen Welder. Now that he was free of the posse, he could see that there were far more people in attendance than he originally thought. In particular, he could see Regulus a few meters away from him. Izar hesitated, watching as his father spoke to an older woman. Regulus appeared in good health as he dressed smartly in a rich, navy blue.

The man's charcoal eyes took that moment to land on Izar. A smile curled the goateed-lips and Regulus leaned forward and placed a hand on the woman's arm, likely excusing himself. Izar stood calmly, eager to speak to his father again. Now likely wasn't the time to speak about what occurred, but Izar couldn't resist.

As Regulus moved forward, a hand curled around Izar's forearm, pulling his attention away from his approaching father. The eyes that met him weren't the ones Izar was hoping to see tonight.

"Izar," Lily breathed. "Would you like to dance?"

Her frail and pale body was dressed in a beautiful crimson gown. It reminded Izar vividly of the gown he had seen in his mind, worn by her. Her thick mane of auburn hair was piled in loose curls at the nape of neck. Over her head, Izar could see James Potter floating uselessly, watching the exchange through round-rimmed glasses.

He didn't want to take her hand. He didn't want to dance with her. He didn't want to see or hear her.

Yet he took her arm anyway.

Throwing his father a pointed look, one that clearly stated to remain calm and patient, Izar led her toward the dance floor. He kept his own expression schooled as he placed a hand on her waist and curled his opposite hand around her small one. Being this close to her when he was having trouble accepting what happened wasn't a good thing. Izar hadn't come to terms with what she had sacrificed or how he felt about it.

But she wanted to speak to him. That was the only reason she would have approached him and asked him to dance.

"Why did you do it?" he asked simply as they danced mindlessly.

Izar looked at her, almost obsessively. He wanted to see a trace of the woman who caressed his cheek, the woman who had stepped in front of Cygnus' attack and scarified herself for him. All that met his stare were dead eyes, eyes that held evidence of the torn soul encased inside her body. She was a walking corpse with hardly any emotion, if any at all.

Almost if sensing his hope, Lily offered a small smile. "We aren't the same person, Izar." She side-stepped his weightless question.

"I know that," Izar responded spitefully. He was a fool for even looking for that mother he had harbored inside his mind. "Does Dumbledore know? Does James Potter?"

Lily turned her head in the direction of her husband. "No. Neither of them knows, though I'm sure Dumbledore suspects something. He's a Light Lord after all. Such darkness stains a soul." She looked back up at him, a bitter smile across her lips. "I know you don't owe me anything, Izar."

Izar's jaw clenched. "I'm so glad you've come to that realization," he drawled. "If anything, I would consider each other even." That's as good as it would ever get between them. Something dark and greasy stained his belly as he realized that this woman would never be a mother, would never possess the necessary emotions to live properly. Her mind only saw a duty to destroy darkness, to redeem the dark act she had committed with the Horcrux.

Izar wondered how James Potter could stay with her. Did she feign love? Concern? Guilt? Had she put on a show the day after the Second Task? She said she still felt guilt for what she did to Izar, but did she really? Or was it simply means as getting an advantage over the Dark side?

Or was there real emotion behind those broken eyes? Izar didn't know the extent of a torn soul, but he knew it had destroyed the woman that was once Lily Evans.

She bowed her head briefly, the light catching the silky strands of auburn hair. "Despite everything, I'd like to ask something from you," she whispered, glancing back up at him. "I would like to ask you to keep my… Horcrux a secret."

Izar raised his eyebrows at the request. Was it her pride or honor that would be damaged if word got out to Dumbledore and James? It was possible. Izar could think of nothing else as to why Lily wanted to keep her torn soul a secret. "And how would you like me to explain my defeat of Cygnus?"

Lily cocked her head to the side, studying him closely. "Judging from your question, you haven't told Regulus yet. What story did you use to tell him?"

Izar kept his face stoic, yet his mind raced. He was a fool. Of course he shouldn't have asked that. Lily wouldn't have known that Izar had been absent from Britain for four days. It was rather ironic that he had to cover up both the Dark Lord's help and Lily's aid. Both the Dark Lord and Lily were oblivious to each other's attempt to save Izar's life. Both of their 'attempts' had saved him and revealed a secret the two didn't want to be let out into the public.

"Occlumency," Izar replied shortly. "I just wanted to see what you would have suggested."

Her green gaze studied his impassive face before she offered a tense nod. "I would have suggested the same." She gave no inclination that her suspicion was still present. Instead, she tightened her hold on Izar's hand. "Will you keep this as a secret between you and I?"

It seemed as if this were important to her. Showing such a weakness like that cost her and Izar quickly preyed on it.

"I'll keep it between us if you drop the custody battle," he challenged softly as he spun them around the dance floor with grace only a creature could possess. The surprise flickering across her face was delicious to him. "Why so surprised? We both want something; we might as well take it."

Lily considered quietly, her expression as blank as her eyes. "No," she replied, startling him with the answer. "I can't do that, I can't, Izar."

Breathing fiercely through his nostrils, he might have crushed her hand in his hold. "Why not?" he demanded quietly, mindful of their surroundings. "I'm nearly seventeen, completely independent. I don't need a mother, or a father, for that matter. I just choose to stay with Regulus because I enjoy his company. The whole battle will just be a waste of your time. So why do it?"

"I'm trying to protect you. It's obvious that the Dark Lord is moving and he's using you. He's manipulated you since you were a child."

Izar narrowed his eyes in mock thought. "It sounds to me like you're using me again for your Light side."

Something shifted beneath her eyes as she leveled him with a cold stare. "I want custody over you in order to protect you. I wouldn't even care if you participated in the war or not. You're being manipulated by the Dark Lord, don't you see? He can see all your insecurities, all your desires, and he's using you to get what he wants."

His lips thinned. He'd already thought about the possibility of Voldemort using him and setting this whole relationship up to his own advantage. But what would the Dark Lord gain from that? Nothing. The Dark Lord wasn't manipulating Izar anymore than Izar was manipulating him. They enjoyed power plays at times, maybe a bit of deceit here and there, but the Dark Lord was not controlling Izar's strings.

"I suppose that's a no to our little arrangement?" Izar turned the conversation around, just as he turned Lily around in a spin.

"Izar, I can't agree to that."

"If you truly wanted redemption, forgiveness, you would drop the custody battle," Izar whispered. Before he could persist, a light tap interrupted him. He turned, his hand still holding his mother's, only to see another pair of green eyes looking up at him.

"Do you mind if I cut in?" Daphne smiled sweetly at Lily.

Lily gave Izar a searching look before nodding sharply and walking stiffly from the dance floor. Izar watched her go before turning to Daphne. He was reluctant to dance again, his original intention to speak with Owen still dangling above his head. Nonetheless, Daphne looked expectant and Izar hadn't spoken to her in what seemed like ages.

She was as beautiful as ever. Her pride and nobility making her glow as bright as the gold gown she wore. She offered him a lopsided smile. "I see you finally grew those few inches you always claimed you would have," she teased.

"And I see you've lost a few inches," he retorted, motioning to her hair.

In her early years, Daphne always wore her hair down her back. With the start of her Fourth year, the length of her hair seemed to shorten after each summer. Presently, it was cut in a short bob, the strands curled loosely and pinned with thin diamond pins. She flashed him a smug smile, patting her hair with a gloved hand. "Do you like it? I'm sure the witches will be sporting the same haircut within a few days after this function."

"I'm sure they'll be embracing their scissors," Izar agreed, reaching out to her and placing his hands in a formal position.

She seemed to move far better than Lily could ever hope to. Daphne always had a pixie-like stature, but her grace made her appear taller than she was. "You truly do look handsome, Izar," she smiled. "It's been a long time since I've seen you."

Izar offered her a grim smile. "In a year, you'll be done with school." He didn't know why he said it, why he brought it up. They both knew that Daphne was to be engaged by the end of her Hogwarts years.

"It can't go any faster," she breathed warily. With wide strides, she kept up with Izar's lead, never once faltering despite her short legs. Surprisingly, she didn't bring up the arranged marriage like Izar thought she would. "I was about to leave here tonight until I saw your mother holding you captive. You didn't look too pleased, I thought I would save you."

And his image.

Izar was reminded of Riddle's comment last night. The man had said there would be politicians here who would look for his weaknesses. Dancing with Lily hadn't been his smartest decision; he hadn't been ready to face her yet. But he had wanted conformation. Of what, Izar still wasn't sure.

"I'm forever in your debt," Izar replied dryly.

They lapsed into a silence, both likely thinking of the same thing. Izar gave a lipless smile, wondering why he was holding back from bringing up the topic of an arranged marriage. He didn't think romantically of Daphne. Their relationship was platonic, as it would always be. Voldemort had nothing to be uptight about. The arrangement would be ideal to cover up Izar's real bond with the Dark Lord, with Undersecretary Riddle, but the man wouldn't see it as such.

The orchestra's melody came to a close and Izar skillfully bowed at his waist, kissing her knuckles. She smiled brightly as he escorted her from the dance floor. "You'll owl me," it wasn't a question, it was a demand. Izar expected nothing less from Daphne.

"I will," Izar assured her. "Keep your head grounded for the rest of the school year," he warned lightly.

He wasn't at Hogwarts anymore to pull Daphne away from her current issue of Witch Weekly to focus on her school work. She would be too proud and stubborn to ask for help with her homework, something she was even hesitant to ask Izar for. He just hoped she could pass with decent grades. Despite her family's riches, Izar could see Daphne growing bored with the lack of challenge. She would eventually get a job.

She nodded smartly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before turning to leave. Izar didn't stand solitary for long as he watched her leave. One lone thought haunted him as she swept from the hall—she was maturing. She hadn't asked after the arranged marriage or even mentioned it. The children he had grown up with at Hogwarts had disgusted Izar with their immaturity.

But now, he was the one standing still while the rest of the students flourished and grew. It would be for an eternity that he would watch his classmates like Daphne and Draco age and wrinkle—and their children age—all the while, he would be stuck as a sixteen-year-old. He would be a solitary bystander while the rest of the world spun crazily around him. Time was frozen for him. It would always be frozen.

Izar pushed the self-pitying thoughts in the back of his mind as he searched for Owen. It would do no good to dwell on his immortality. Voldemort would look down upon him if the man discovered his true feelings on the matter. In any case, experiences and hard-learned lessons were what matured an individual—not the wrinkles and grey hair. He could be sixteen forever, but his accomplishments and experiences were what would really define his age.

Gracefully, Izar glided across the polished floors and toward the buffet table. Owen hadn't moved from his position near the finger sandwiches. After all, the Head Unspeakable hadn't grown his large belly by doing nothing.

"Mr. Welder," Izar greeted coolly.

The large back turned and Izar realized that he wasn't alone at the buffet table. His company turned and locked eyes with Izar.

The first thing Izar felt was a spark of his magic-sensitivity coming back. It was a small flame that was dosed quickly, but he had felt it as clear as it had been before the accident. The second thing he thought of when he looked at the man across from him was that he was everything a Gryffindor should be. Brutal, intelligent, brash, and a predator. Izar found himself allured by those sharp yellow eyes staring back at him.

"Ah, Izar," Owen grumbled in greeting. "I'd like for you to meet Rufus Scrimgeour, our leading candidate for the next Minister of Magic."

Izar hadn't needed the introduction. Rufus carried himself proudly and with a confidence many found difficult to find within themselves. He was battle weary with faint scars marking his face and drawing attention to the clever eyes.

This was a man Izar could see as a worthy opponent, one he was eager to test the limits of.

Rufus returned Izar's scrutiny just as carefully. "Izar Black," Rufus murmured, his voice resembling a proud lion. "I've heard much about you."

The ex-Auror held out a calloused hand. A smile Izar hoped wasn't too sadistic stretched across his lips as he shook the man's hand.

Now this Izar would enjoy.